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ASHES AND INCENSE 

^^ POEMS BY«=^ 
WAITMAN BARBE 





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PHILADELPHIA 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT 
COMPANY MDCCCXCII 



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Copyright, 1 891, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 



Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 



TO 



THE HON. WILLIAM L. WILSON. 



J THR O W upon the outward sea, 

With trembling heart and hands, 
These flowers, plucked in wood and lea, 
And grass from the marsh and sands. 

Far out they drift on the ruthless tide, 
Bound up with threads of rhyme ; 

What fate awaits on the sea so wide, 
In wild or welcome clime ? 

Will aught of bud, or grass, or flower, 

Come back again, and win 
The shore once more, in that far hour 

When the burdened tide comes in ? 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

At the Morning Gate 9 

A Watch in the Night 14 

The North Hill-side in December 27 

Thy Name 29 

The Old Etcher 32 

The Marsh and the Mocking-Bird 34 

Ashes and Incense 37 

An Old Love-Song 39 

A Word with thee 40 

The Charity of Night 42 

Art and Love and Life 43 

The Heart of the Earth 44 

After the Hunt 46 

Wreath and Veil 48 

Song of the Monongahela 50 

Voices of the Night Wind 53 

I'd not have served thee so 54 

In the White Garden 57 

" There's Snow in the Air" 59 

A Phantasy of Life 61 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



Earth's Equation 63 

Her Own receive her not 65 

A Rose Idyl 66 

Eternal Silences 68 

A Humble Tragedy 69 

Back to the Orient 71 N 

The Robin's Creed 72 

A Lyric of the Street 73 

In April Wood 75 

The Narrow Land 'twixt Life and Death .... 77 

A Poem Unwritten 79 

The Comrade Hills . 80 

Love's Pathway 85 

Nature's Triumph 86 

Quatrains and Fancies ^ 

Pan 88 

October 88 

Under the Maples 88 

The Lover and the Book 89 

The Judean and the Prince 89 

Sympathy 89 

The City and the Fields 89 

The Critic 90 

The Lost Echo 91 

A Little Corner of Life 93 

The Nymph Egeria 94 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

Amid the Mountain Pines . . , 95 

The Patient Earth 96 

From the Gallery (A Rhyme of New Orleans) .... 97 

Stanzas (From " Song of a Century") 99 

The Maid of the Meadows 105 

A Winter Mood 107 

The God Love 108 

Dreaming of the May 109 

An Artist to his Model • . . . in 

The Winds 113 

The Lost Inheritance (The Cry of the Pessimist) ... 114 

Sidney Lanier , 117 

A Life Lesson 118 

Among the Gold Hills 119 

A Dirge 121 

The Skipper's Bride 123 

Compensation 126 

Where Summer Bides 128 

Verses at an Alumni Dinner 130 

To a Rare Old Book 134 

A Nocturne 135 

The Old Threshing-Floor 136 

Wild-Flowers in the City ...... 138 

The Debutante 141 

Messages in Cipher 142 

The Lady and the Book 145 



8 CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



The Crusader's Return 146 

The Scholar's Bride 148 

The Poet's Magic Power (To Robert Burns Wilson) . . 151 

The Polar Zone 153 

A Landscape Impression 155 

To my Father 157 

Finis 158 



ASHES AND INCENSE 



AT THE MORNING GATE. 




T the morning gate, 

With heart aflame and naked brow, I 
wait. 

Back home from night of wildest revelries 
The drowsy breezes steal among the trees, 
And bearing with them secret lore profound 
Of haunts where witches dance their merry- 
round. 
One sabre-stroke of that old warrior, Sun, 
Has cleft the mist in twain, — day has begun. 
The roses drink his health in wine so old 
Its vintage-year has long been left untold, 
And like a maiden waked with loving word, 

The lily blushes for her coming lord. 

2 9 



IO ASHES AND INCENSE. 

At the morning gate 

I, trembling, bide the word of the keeper, Fate ; 
My only sesame the goal to gain 
Some roses from Parnassus' lowest plain. 
And naught of grace, alas ! have they at all, 
When seen beside their sisters, fair and tall. 
Can they swing back the portals of the field 
Wherein life's rarest plants their harvests yield? 
Therein the choicest spirits dwell, and still 
Are heard the ancient gods upon the hill; 
And Ceres oft, at breaking of the morn, 
Walks down the fields of welcome-nodding corn. 
But sad and lonely vales are there as well, 
And depths of gloom where Pain and Sorrow 

dwell ; 
And peaks where Desolation sits and hears 
The moans of death that reach no other ears. 

At the morning gate 

I throw my rhymes and roses down, and wait. 
Like beads of flame strung on a golden thread, 
The notes of Shelley's lark float o'er my head, 



AT THE MORNING GATE. II 

And still is heard, O Keats, thy nightingale 

When darkness falls across yon wooded dale ; 

While Hebrew harp and Attic lyre prolong 

The melody of their full-throated song. 

A bird upon a bough in Arcady 

Than tzar, or king, or khan, I'd rather be ! 

At the morning gate 
I sight the far-off hosts in regal state, — 
There Sappho and the bard of yesterday 
Walk hand in hand, and Music leads the way; 
There Concord sage and old Judean seer 
Upon serene and starlit heights appear; 
The cries of Otway for a crust of bread 
Now break in shouts of triumph round his head. 
The sun that rose by Avon stream of old 
Spreads over all the lands a cloth of gold, 
And by its light my feet have come from far, 
Fain all to leave if but the gate's ajar. 

At the morning gate 

I hear the shouts of some who, long and late, 



12 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

With faithful purpose wrought and hoped, and 

won 
At last the right to thrones of song; and 

none 
Can doubt their claim divine, or say them 

nay 
Because they climbed through darkness up the 

way 
While others leaped the barriers at a bound, 
And stand with bays and praise immortal 

crowned. 
The world that scoffed and jeered and would 

not hear 
Now raise without the walls their peals of 

cheer. 

At the morning gate 
My brother man goes by, his heart elate 
With thought of gain that waits for him ahead, 
And treads upon these flowers, withered, dead. 
Dead ! Ah, be it so ! But let me lay 
Them close within the morning gate, I pray, 



AT THE MORNING GATE. 1 3 

Where kindred spirits will not mock their ghost, 
And where some friend among that laureled 

host, 
Remembering the path he trod, will say, 
/ saw them as I passed the gate this zvay. 



2* 



14 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 

HERE must have been a Yesterday, 

This swart Night's fair young bride, — 
Ah, yes, I saw her pass this way 

With flowers at her side. 
They say he loved her not, but frowned 

When she, with crimson blush, 
Drew near his side. Alas ! the wound 

Went to her heart, — but hush ! 
How sweetly and how calmly there she lay, 
In shroud of yellow hair : dear Yesterday ! 
So uncomplainingly she gave her life, 
She who was bride (speak low) but was not wife. 
Some stars came out to light her spirit's way 
To where all Yesterdays become To-day. 
When she was empress of the blessed land, 
Before her face they ne'er presumed to stand. 
The birds that sung her praise are voiceless now, 
And one sad owl sits moaning on the bough. 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 1 5 

But oh, that I might die as she did die, 
With radiant face illumining the sky! 

There is no friend to watch with me 

Till dawn shall break, 

And the earth shall take 

Its bath of showered gold, and wake 
Its minstrelsy. 
For even Hope hath fallen asleep, 

And Faith must rest her tired wings, 
And Love hath stayed without to weep 

O'er wounds that bleed and bitter stings; 
But Love doth never fall asleep, 

And Love doth never rest her wings! 

On the tide of the night 

The wrecks of the day come in, 
With tales of the reefs 

Where our driven ships have been : 
Beautiful sloops all shattered, 
Sails by the sharp winds tattered, 
Navies and fleets that are scattered 



1 6 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Come home to trouble the soul, 
With the mournful billows that roll 
On the tide of the night ; 

But only the watcher that waits for the last 
full tide 
Knoweth what wrecks there be 
In the depth of the hungry sea 

To crush the last of his pride. 

The tired town has fallen asleep, 

And Virtue and Sin lie side by side, 
For Sin hath Virtue for his bride. 
But some there be that keep 
Their watch by vacant hearths and wait 
For steps that do not come : — so late 

The hours grow; 
So ghostly is the light the dying embers 

throw ! 
And some there be that lie 
With faces toward the eastern sky, 
With faces toward the dawn of hope, 
And think perchance for them shall ope 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 1 7 

The sun-built gates of a brighter day, — 
Thus man doth hope alway. 

And some there be (ah, who shall say 

How much their blame?) 
Who cry with tortured souls, and pray 
That darkness might forever stay 

To hide their shame. 

But though the darkness hath come up from 
out the deep, 

As doubt doth rise from out the depth of sin, 
It cannot keep 

The heaven- lighted spirit in. 

Too blessed are these quiet hours 

To give to dull forgetful sleep, 
For they that build the Babel towers 

Must now their silence keep, — 
A flood of darkness rises o'er the land 
And round the piles they build upon the 
sand. 



1 8 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

God pity those who die to feed. 

The hungry maw of Greed; 

And pity those of whom is made 

A sacrifice to Trade; 

God pity those who starve their souls 

To pay the heavy tolls 

That Life exacts in Shop and Mart: 

O Life, here at the start 

Of life, I plead with thee with heart that bleeds 

For what may be, oh, starve not thus my 
soul! 
But let me follow where the wild wind leads, 

And where the lands of beauty sweep and roll ; 
Or if it must be mine to grope along 
And hear, except my own, no cheerful song, 
Let that be so; the way will not be long, — 

But, Life, starve not my soul ! 

This night is but a bit of Silence cut 
From that eternal Calm which but 
A little distance lies before, 
And where no more 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT 1 9 

Shall toil and traffic, million-mouthed, be heard, 

Nor vision by their smoke and dust be blurred ; 

Or like an Isle of Patmos it doth stand, 

Shut off from all the busy babbling land ; 

And here my watch I keep in peace, 

As he of old upon the isle of Greece ; 

Here visions rise 

And fill the midnight skies, 

And here, 

Without a fear 

Of any earth-thrown 

Primal-light eclipse, 
The soul may have its own 

Apocalypse ! 
Glimpses of sylphs and fairies and fays 

And folk of the wandering air ; 
Perfumes distilled in millions of Mays, 

And sweet as my BeautifuFs hair; 
Essences born of the night and the stars ; 

Music majestic scaled on the sky: 
Each star is a note and the bars 

Are the comets that cross as they fly, — 



20 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Music that hath a compass as great 

As the greatness of God, 
And reacheth from over the crystal gate 

To the burial sod; 
Kisses that wait to be claimed by the dead, 
And whispers of love that wait to be said ; 
Sighs that escaped from the maiden that slept, 
And tears that were felt but never were 

wept; 
Blushes of love and pride and shame, 
And sins and crimes without a name, 
And time and death and the sodden grave, 
And life with its evolving wave. 

A highway as broad as the hopes of the race, 

Yet narrow as a life's last needs; 
And she that passeth hath a face 

That beameth and that bleeds. 
Her name is the name of the song that's writ 

On this and the other side of the sky ; 
Her breath is a flame which, being lit, 

Gives life or causeth to die! 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 21 

She cometh! she cometh, with the might of a god, 
And gentle as a reed by the brook; 

She toucheth a prince, she toucheth a clod 
(Oh, give me the power to look !), 

And each hath become divine ! 

And by this miracle-sign 

I know that she cometh down from above, 

And her name — it is Love ! 

Oh, have I not seen that face before 

The traces of sorrow were there, 
In cycles agone when the wide world o'er 

Held nothing to make a care ? 
It seemeth to me young Love and I 

Once danced to the piping of Pan 
And his reed under the morning sky, 

What time before the world began 
To learn a fear or a tear or a sigh ; 

When the heart of the earth and the heart of 

man 

Still beat as one, and both 

As the heart of Love, nor loath 

3 



22 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

To own her sway- 
In that young day. 
Since then the earth hath bruised her feet, 

And the world hath bruised her heart ; 
And now when here again we meet 

I see that Sorrow hath stolen a part 
Of the glory that lighted her face. 
But she hath given to Sorrow a grace 
And sweetness akin to her own, 

And this is the reason that, hand in hand, 

So often they walk throughout the land 
Where Love once walked alone. 

Upon the thankful earth doth rest 
A cloak of charity : beneath the west 
Detective Sun hath slunk away; 
And now let him who can be gay. 

Is there a sigh ? 
The music will keep it from the ears of the 
crowd, — 

Is there a cry 
In the heart of the belle with bearing so proud ? 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 23 

So let it He 
Buried beneath the roses he gave. 
And a tear ? Twill be noticed for nothing 
save 

To brighten the eye. 

The feet will fly, 
And care be lost on the rapturous wave ; 
But oh, for her will the morn be gray 

Or the morn be bright, 
When the breath of the roses has stolen away 

Out on the night? 

My watch I keep for them that die, 

As well as them that dance, — 
For them upon whose face doth lie 

A holy radiance. 
Across the street a light burns low, 

And death is there; 
Across the street the light burns low, 

And life is there; 
For life goes out and life comes in, — 
And she hath perished for her sin. 



24 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

For love her trusting life she gave, 
But love is greater than the grave, 
And all the scorn that all the world 
Upon her head hath hurled; 

And as I watch across the street 
The light burn low, 
And dim, 

And die away, 
I fancy I can see her sweet, 
Sad spirit go 
To Him 

Who loves alway ! 

And now, the glamour in the hall ; 
And now, the flicker on the pall ; 
The candle at the window-pane, 
The spark of hope that watched in vain 
For him who cometh not, are gone, 
And every sign of life's withdrawn. 

So still 
And empty is the lonesome land, 
And Time forgets the lifted sand. 



A WATCH IN THE NIGHT. 25 

A Chill 

Creeps through my heart, but still I keep 
My watch upon the boundless deep 
Of oceaned Silences, and hear 
The God of Silence whisper : Fear 

Thou not ; 
This is the hour when forth I walk 
Upon the tired earth and talk 
With them who keep their watch for Me ; 
Thy faithful vigil shall not be 

Forgot! 

But see ! the massive gates of gold 

Of the morn begin to turn ! Behold ! 

The couriers of the King of Day 

Come dancing, piping up this way, 

With oriflamme and bandrol flying 

Above the earth where Night lies dying! 

Across the sky a banner's flung 

Of blue and gold, and every tongue 

Of bird and every living thing 

Cries " Hail ! Thrice hail the coming King !" 

3* 



26 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Arouse thee, Hope, from thy dreamy sleep! 

And Faith, where are thy trusted wings? 
And Love, there is no time to weep 

O'er wounds and unintended stings ! 

The bugle calls to come away: 
And forth I go into the day! 



THE NORTH HILL-SIDE IN DECEMBER. 2J 




THE NORTH HILL-SIDE IN DE- 
CEMBER. 

EAR how the Wind complaineth all day 
long 

Because naught now remains for him 
to kill : 
There is no flower, or brook, or bird, or song 
Since that sad night when he came down the 
hill. 
The lean and shiv'ring grass, 
Awake to hear him pass, 
Fell down and crept away, but could not hide, — 
The whole world's wrath hath touched the north 
hill-side ! 

The Blast that stalks across the frozen field 
Hath wrapt about himself his kirtle brown ; 

Alone ! so lone ! the stricken earth doth yield 
No kindly thing to steal from him his frown. 



28 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Have pity, Night, and bring 

Upon your swiftest wing 
A winding-sheet of purest snow, to spread 
Above these children of the hill-side, dead ! 



THY NAME. 29 



THY NAME. 




AKE tip thy pen and write 
What I shall say, — 
Thus said a Voice to me 
One perfect day 

In summer's regal prime, 
When marching by 

Came all the splendors of 
The earth and sky 

A-step to song of birds, 
And with the trees 

For banners waving in 
The lusty breeze. 

Take itp thy pen and write 
What I shall say, — 



30 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And so I wrote and wrote, 
That perfect day; 

But every word I wrote 
Was just the same, 

And every word I wrote 
Was just — thy name! 

And when I asked the Voice, 

I heard it say: 
No other word is meet 

For such a day ! 



II. 



Take up thy pen and zvrite 
What I shall say, — 

Thus said a Voice to me 
One dreary day 

In winters bitter time, 
When earth and sky 



THY NAME, 3 1 

Their gleaming cohorts led 
No longer by; 

A day when all the world 

Lost heart and bowed 
Its head to sleet and rain 

From sullen cloud. 

Take up thy pen and write 

What I shall say, — 
And so I wrote and wrote, 

That doleful day; 

But every word I wrote 

Was just the same, 
And every word I wrote 

Was just — thy name! 

And when I asked the Voice, 
I heard it say : 

No other word gives life 
To such a day I 



32 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE OLD ETCHER. 

OR forty years or more 

One masterpiece his work has been 
upon; 
And never rests he once from dawn to dawn, 
But o'er and o'er 
The lines of beauty infinite I see 
Him trace 
And then erase 
Their matchless grace 
Of imagery. 

Upon a ground of blue and gold and gray 
A thousand changes makes he every day; 
And in the night, 
By wan starlight, 
Such figures come and go 

That I who watch would give my all to know 
The limner's secret, or to stay 



THE OLD ETCHER. 33 

For but a day 

The lines that cross my raptured gaze and melt 
away. 

In plaintless solitude, 

With straggling locks, and nude, 

He stands, 

With withered hands, — 

This etcher old, — 

Against the fretted sky of blue and gray and 

gold. 
And naught for praise or blame cares he, — 
This wind-blown and dismantled cherry-tree ! 



34 



ASHES AND INCENSE. 



THE MARSH AND THE MOCK- 
ING-BIRD. 



LOAF by the marsh, and she telleth me 
Of her faithful love for the grim old 
sea, 
And patiently waits for the rapturous hour 
When she lieth held by the tide in his power. 

But the fickle sea is away to-day, 

His arms about some island fair, 
And in her hair 

He sprinkles radiant jewels rare, 
Forgetting the marsh in her garb of gray. 

And this that I hear? 
Surely no song can be made 

In a day so drear, 
When a burden of grief on the land is laid. 



THE MARSH AND THE MOCKING-BIRD. 35 

Is it a message from the sea to the marsh ? 
Or a whisper of love from the marsh to the 
sea ? 
The voice of the ocean is harsh, 
And the marsh 
She lieth dumb in her misery. 
Hath the wind from some Virginia hill 
Come down to pipe on a reed ? 
Hath a soul escaped from the world and its 
greed ? 
Are the oaks a-thrill 
With a secret and cannot be still ? 

Hath a shell 
On the shore decided its story to tell? 
Do the currents of life that counter have run 
Unite as one, 
And a symphony raise 
Of tribute and praise 
To Him who sitteth alone 
On the Maestro's throne ? 
Ah ! the mystery now is plain 
To me and the marsh and the main. 



36 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

It is no voice of the sea or the wood or the 
wind, 
And the taunting shell 
Its ancient secret doth not tell ; 
But yonder doth a feathered Lind 
Pour out its soul in notes that rise 
Like incense to the farthest skies ! 



ASHES AND INCENSE. 37 




ASHES AND INCENSE. 

I. 

ER love was pure as earth 
Would let it be, 
And helped to link this life 

With all eternity; 
But hope, with which it walked 

At early dawn, 
Lost heart and died before 

The night came on ; 
But still we tell the path 

She used to tread 
By rare, sweet incense from 

The hope that's dead. 

II. 

His passion scorched a line 

Of blackness where 
It touched what else had been 

All that is fair, 

4* 



38 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And burned itself away 
To ashes gray, — 

And cursed is the spot 
For aye and aye. 



AN OLD LOVE-SONG. 39 




AN OLD LOVE-SONG. 

HE thrush doth pipe his mate 
An old love-song, 
And yet his love for her 
Is new and strong, — 

The song that fluttered hearts 

In ancient wood 
When God first saw the earth 

And called it good. 

No master's symphony 

Hath lived so long 
As this bird's plaintive, sweet, 

And old love-song, — 

A simple strain, without 

A touch of art, 
It lives because it comes 

Straight from his heart. 



40 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




A WORD WITH THEE. 

WORD with thee, my Fancy wild, 

A word with thee, 
For thou hast been a madcap child: 
Come home, some day, and rest with me, 
Forget thy haunts beyond the sea; 
Tis long since thou didst go away. 
My envoy thou hast been to lay 
My tributes down at sacred shrines; 
Come home and rest, all wreathed in vines, 

An hour with me. 

A word with thee, my Soul, I pray, 

A word with thee; 
Grant me this boon, then have thy way : 
Some day, while yet the full tide flows, 
Cease for an hour thy fretful throes; 
Give me a sense of calm and rest 
Before we journey to the west ; 



A WORD WITH THEE. 4 1 

WeVe been together many days, 
And turbulent have been thy ways 
As wind-racked sea. 

A word with thee, my Life, I plead, 

A word with thee ; 
And if thou lovest me, oh, heed : 
If Fancy will not hear my call, 
And if my Soul is bound in thrall 
To its unrest, then give me power 
To meet thy most tumultuous hour, 
So that when Fancy farthest soars 
And when the Soul-tide fiercest roars 

My faith may be 

Still strong in thee. 



42 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE CHARITY OF NIGHT. 

NIGHT, thou Queen of Ethiope ! 

Thou weavest of thy star-bejeweled 
hair, 
That floats in sombre mists upon the air, 
A cloak of charity for all the race ; 
And thou dost lend it with such tender grace 

That unto him it seems, 

Who wears it, in his dreams, 

The vesture of a king, 

And not a borrowed thing 

To hide his nakedness. 

In thy dominion grows 

The lotus-leaf, and flows 

The Lethe-stream, to bless 

With all forgetfulness, — 
More than the Day, thou feedest Hope, 
O Night, thou Queen of Ethiope ! 



ART AND LOVE AND LIFE. 43 



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ART AND LOVE AND LIFE. 



WILL not heed thee, Love," he said, 

And pushed her hand aside, — 
" I will not turn to hear thy tread, 
Nor journey at thy side; 



"For I have plighted to mine Art 

My troth for years to be; 
And since I've given her my heart 

I have naught left for thee." 

But Love would not be turned away ; 

She soothed his tired brain, 
Nor let him know (it is Love's way) 

How broke her heart with pain. 

Her hand took up his pen, and lo ! 

A new and living power; 
For Life began to breathe and glow 

Within his Art that hour ! 



44 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE HEART OF THE EARTH. 

HEART of the Earth ! my heart is thine. 
I have drunken deep of thy buoyant 

wine; 

Have felt thy bosom's beat; 
Have laid my head on thy friendly breast 
When the night rose out of the frowning west 
And stayed th' impatient feet. 

Thy winds blow cheer to the willing ear; 
Thy dews are kind as the maiden's tear 

That falls with love a-weight; 
Thy streams laugh " Welcome !" o'er the sands ; 
Thy oaks lift high their pleading hands 
For benisons on all the lands, 

And then, or soon or late, 
A kingly home thou giv'st to all, 
Green-roofed, where cypress-shadows fall. 



THE HEART OF THE EARTH 45 

A faithful friend thou art, great Heart, 
And even I may claim a part 

Of thy unchanging love. 
Thy cliffs may scowl, thy wastes look drear, 
Thy hills be hoary as a Lear, 

And churlish clouds above ; 
But storms and frowns can never part 
Us from the love of thy large Heart ! 

When rocks and caves were homes for man, 
And grov'ling his desires ran 

On plane with beast or clod, 
Two friends he had, e'en then as now: 
The one, O kindly Earth, wast thou, 

The other was his God. 

And now that Heart that ne'er grows old, 

That Heart that thrills the sea and wold, 

That Heart that ne'er betrayed or sold, 

Is friend to me as him. 

May I be true to it as well, 

Its sacred whisperings to tell, 

Its radiant face to limn ! 
5 



46 ASHES AND INCENSE, 




AFTER THE HUNT. 

HROUGH all the night the hounds have 
run ; 
And now the rising autumn sun 
Salutes the gray Virginia hills, 
But twilight still the hollows fills. 
The hounds lie panting at our feet; 
The sport was fine, the fox was fleet; 
And they have chased her to her den, 
O'er hill and vale, through brake and fen ; 
Their bay has filled the hollow night, 
And we have followed at our might. 

The fox is safe: the hunt is done; 

The night is spent,— what have we won? 

Far off to southward lies a town 
Where men are hunting up and down, 



AFTER THE HUNT 47 

And chasing through life's brakes and fens 

Its wily pleasures to their dens; 

But when the hunt of life is done, 

What game have they ? What have they won ? 



48 ASHES AND INCENSE. 



WREATH AND VEIL. 




H, garland my brow with the valley's 
delight, 

And robe me in robes of immaculate 
white, 
And a veil like a mist of the moon's mellow 
gold 
Throw round me to-night. 
Let the wedding strains slowly and softly be 

played, 
Benedictory hands of loved ones be laid 
On my head, for a joy in its depth all untold 
Has mastered me quite. 

Let mirth and the dance and music prevail 
To drown the mad moan of the storm and its 
wail, 



WREATH AND VEIL. 49 

And let the lamps weave their meshes of light, 

And let the bells peal. 
For oh, I'm a bride ! and with wreath and with 

ring 
My heart to the sacred altar I bring, 
My troth and my love and my life to plight 

By his side as I kneel. 

II. 

Oh, garland her brow with sad immortelles, 
And veil her fair form and weep your farewells ; 
We will lay her to rest where the lilies shall 
grow 

A perpetual crown. 
With wreath and with veil we will lay her away, 
But oh, so dolesomely changed are they ! 
For death it has come as the north winds blow, — 

And her lilies are brown. 



50 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




SONG OF THE MONONGAHELA. 

EY-HO ! I leave my haunts in the woods, 

I leave the land of snow; 
Hey-ho ! I leave my mountain friends 
And away to the south I go ; 
Away to run through cotton-fields, 
Away to swell the orange yields, 
Away to be kissed by sun and breeze, 
Away to be mixed with shoreless seas. 
Hey-ho ! to the wider world I run, 
Hey-ho ! to the land o' the sun. 

I'll fill the Beautiful River's heart 

With joy as free as an elf; 
I'll e'en become a very part 

Of the Father of Waters himself. 
With wider purpose, larger sweep, 

My steadfast course I'll run, 



SONG OF THE MONONGAHELA. 5 1 

Like one whose aims in life reach out 

Till all his work be done, 
And he at last merged in the sea 

Whose farther shore no man 
Has ever glimpsed with earth-bound eyes 

Since first the world began. 
The mighty, pulsing trade I'll serve 

And yield to man's behest; 
His burdens bear from land to sea 

Adown the wondrous west. 
And just as lovers sing to me here 

When the shades of the hills reach out 
Across the waters' crystal bed 

And the harvest moon is near, 
E'en so beneath the southland shades, 

When the mocking-bird sings low 
And the breeze comes up from the restless sea, 

They'll sing to me there I know. 
When the air is rich with the odor of May, 

Swept in from distant pines, 
They'll sing to me then and vow their love 

Is measured by no confines. 



52 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

But back I'll come to my mountain home 

To tell the woodland sprites 
How maidens' sighs and thrushes' songs 

Fill all the southern nights. 
Like one who loves his childhood home 

That's set among the hills, 
And oft returns from broader fields 

To feel its mystic thrills, 
So I shall come from the ocean's sweep 

To hear the same old song, 
And leap the rocks and kiss the boughs 

That have waved for me so long. 

Then away to my task for the sons of men, 

Away through city and plain; 
The voices of comrades bid me stay, 

But all their tempting is vain. 
Hey-ho! to the wider world I run, 
Hey-ho! to the land o' the sun. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT WIND. S3 




VOICES OF THE NIGHT WIND. 



STARVED and ruined soul last night 

Went out from house of clay, 
And on the night wind's wings is borne 
A wail of woe alway. 

This morn a sinless maiden slept 
The sleep that men call death, 

And every breeze is sweeter now 
With perfume of her breath. 



54 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




I'D NOT HAVE SERVED THEE SO. 



ND thou art dead ! Couldst thou not stay 
Until I came to kiss away 



From these cold lips their last warm breath? 
Thou lovedst me less than thou didst Death, 

Else thou wouldst not have gone with him, — 
That ghastly lover, cold and grim. 

Dear heart, I'd not have served thee so, 
But said to Death, "I will not go 

Until my love has given me leave; 
I could not bear to have her grieve. ,, 

But thou art gone with him, and I 
Have not so much as thy "good-by." 



I'D NOT HAVE SERVED THEE SO. 55 

How can I know, since thou art free, 
If thou wouldst have me follow thee ? 

Would thy new lover jealous be 

If I should come some day to thee ? 

And how am I, dear love, to know, 
Since thou wast in such haste to go, 

In what dim shadow-land afar 
Thou and thy new-found lover are ? 

Where has he taken thee to dwell? 
I blame thee that thou didst not tell, 

That I might come to thee some day, 
When thy new love has died away; 

For surely thou didst ask him where 
He'd built his home to take thee there. 

What did he say, to steal away 

Thy love from me ? What did he say ? 



$6 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

The rest of all the world he'll take : 
He might have left thee for my sake. 

I kiss thy cold, unanswering clay: 
Why couldst thou not have stayed a day 

To say good-by, and tell me what 
I did to lose thy love? I'd not 

Have served thee so, — that thou dost know,- 
Sweetheart, Fd not have served thee so ! 



IN THE WHITE GARDEN. $? 



IN THE WHITE GARDEN. 




MAY not say just when 
Her unbound spirit passed this way, 
In silent night or sunlit day; 
But all these children of the May 

Have bloomed in white since then. 

She hung her soul's fair flowers 
On every bush and shrub and vine, 
And lingered with her cups of wine 
Where in the grass the lilies shine, 

And in the jasmine bowers. 

And so they hold to-day 

The fragrance of her parting breath, 

Which, like a loved one's kiss at death, 

Love best of all remembereth 

With hope that lives alway. 

6 



58 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Beneath this list'ning rose 
A loving friend once spoke her name ; 
And was the favored rose to blame 
Because to every breeze that came 

It did that name disclose ? 

And still throughout the years 
That come and go, that come and go, 
Her name is whispered, oh, so low, 
By every leaf she cherished so, — 

Behold ! they're wet with tears ! 



"THERE'S SNOW IN THE AIR." 59 



"THERE'S SNOW IN THE AIR." 



a 




HERE'S snow in the air," the old man 
said, 

As he shivered in through the gate 
And pulled his chair to the cheerful fire 
That glowed in the open grate. 

" I feel it in my aching limbs, 
And the night is damp and chill: 

I hear the southward-winging birds 
A-calling over the hill. 

" Would I could follow where they lead 

To a land that's warm and fair; 
For to-night the clouds have covered the sky, 

And I feel the snow in the air." 



60 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

The sun was bright on the hills next day, 

And the forest was red and gold; 
But the old man sat with an icy stare, 
And muttering o'er, " There's snow in the air," 
He passed as a tale that is told. 



A PHANTASY OF LIFE. 6 1 




A PHANTASY OF LIFE. 

HE rose-time is full 

Of a merry bird-chorus 
That times to the dance 

Of the leaves hanging o'er us, — 
To the dance of the leaves with the zephyrs 

that love them, 
And whose breath is the breath of the sun up 
above them. 

But only a few 

Birds of them all 
Are left to sing 

When the first snows fall, — 
Only a faithful bird or two 
Has a heart remaining forever true. 



The gate of the future, — 

Who has the key of it ? 
6* 



62 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

This burden called Being, — 
Who shall be free of it ? 
Whoe'er spells out, though it be but a line, 
Of this mystic life-volume hath touched the 
Divine. 

This mystic life-volume, 

Written in tracings 
And graphics so delicate, 
And blurred with erasings, 
And the last of whose mouldering pages are 

found 
Only a little way under the ground. 



EARTH'S EQUATION. 63 




EARTH'S EQUATION. 

I. 

NE day like this, of sun and song, 
Atones for all the wrong 
That all the wrathful nights have hurled 
Across the patient world. 



II. 

One note like that I heard this morn, 
In yonder clump of thorn, 
Can give the key to nature's rune, 
And set the earth attune. 

III. 

One slab from tempest-quarried sea, 
Of wondrous masonry, 
Makes homes for thousands evermore 
Who had no homes before. 



64 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

IV. 

One ray from far Pierides 
Can flood with light all these 
Dense-shadowed wastes, where, day by day, 
We wear our lives away. 



HER OWN RECEIVE HER NOT. 65 




HER OWN RECEIVE HER NOT. 

HE world has stoned thee and crowned 
thee with thorns, 
Thou Priestess of Beauty, divine ! 
Because thou wilt not turn its mills, it scorns 
Thy sparkling cups of wine ! 

And since it cannot mint thy heart, believes 
It vain and worthless dross; 

And seeks to crucify thee with the thieves 
Nailed to its brazen cross ! 

Upon thy samite robes of white is thrown 

The tainture of the towns. 
Dost thou remember when thou hadst a throne, 

And worshippers, and crowns ? 



66 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




A ROSE IDYL. 

HE roses held revel 

On the garden's green level, 
And the fire-flies lighted the lawn. 
The dew was their wine 
Of a vintage so fine, 
And they danced till gray of the dawn. 

White roses fair, 

Red roses rare, 
Beautiful damask and yellow, 

Sweetbrier fine, 

First love of mine, 
And black rose downy and mellow. 

Musicians were there, light-fingered gales, 

iEolian harps a-playing; 
And moths floated by with silvery sails, 

No captain or master obeying. 



A ROSE IDYL. 6? 

The white rose smiled to the red, 
And the red rose bowed and said, 

"Oh, dance with me." 
The hours winged and fled, 
The eastern sky grew red 

Out o'er the sea; 

But on they danced and danced, 
She blushed and he advanced, 
Till the sun came up from the deep 
Like a thirsty king from his sleep, 

And drank all their wine 

Of a vintage so fine, 
And now they drowse in his shine. 



68 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




ETERNAL SILENCES. 

THOUSAND hoofs are clanging on the 

streets 
Where noisy commerce crushes all it 

meets ; 
And he who cries his wares above the rest 
Has most of gold and glory for his zest. 
This bustling and voracious throng of men 
Will strut about a little hour, and then, 
Without a tear for any missing face, 
Another surging crowd will take its place. 

But through my open window, far away 
Beyond the utmost reach of traffic's sway, 
Into eternal silences I gaze: 
Infinitude of peace and patience stays 
Upon those heights that man may know the will 
Of Him who calmed the waves with, — " Peace, 
be still!" 



A HUMBLE TRAGEDY. 69 




A HUMBLE TRAGEDY. 

HERE, that will do ! The tragedy is done. 
A queen of tragedy has quit the stage, — 
A queen of tragedy, and yet the rose 
I place upon her grave is first and last 
Of floral tribute to her years of toil. 

Her soul was dwarfed among these barren hills, 
And love was starved, but life was loath to leave 
The only spot of earth it knew, and stayed 
These seventy years, — these lonesome, hungry 

years. 
No day of rest, no night of song she knew, 
No sweet and friendly voice came to her from 
Beyond the hills around her humble home 
To tell her of a larger life and of a world 
That's bountiful and beautiful. Within 
Her little realm there was no sun or stars, 
No gentle slopes, no breath from bud or bloom, 



JO ASHES AND INCENSE. 

No music's tender spell, so bleak and bare 
Was all the life in which her life was set. 

But bravely toiled she day by day, and naught 
Complained she of the fate that shut her in. 
No slab will mark her lonely resting-place ; 
And none will care to know the tragedy 
Of such a plain and humble life as hers. 
But all the earth doth hold no sadder tale 
Than these, — than these that lie unsung, untold, 
Among the barren hills. 



BACK TO THE ORIENT 7 1 




BACK TO THE ORIENT. 

HE western world is richer to-day 
In laws, in deeds, in creeds, 
But the tired brain with its leaden pain, 
And the heart with all its needs, 



Remain the same, — as poor to-day 
As when the bards of yore 

Cried from the east what now we cry 
Back from the western shore. 



72 ASHES AND INCENSE. 



THE ROBIN'S CREED. 

URE worshipper, this Easter morn, 
Among the orchard aisles ! 
Brave anthemer, thy creed shall win 
The world in afterwhiles ! 



Thy creed, — 'tis sweet as thine own song, 

And as the apple-bloom 
That cometh by and by to deck 

These naked aisles of gloom. 

Thy creed, — 'tis simple as thy notes 
That drop like beads of gold : 

'Tis new this morn, and yet Old Time 
Himself is not so old. 

Within thy creed is room for all 

The universe ; — so great 
Thy heart that it contains no place 

That's small enough for hate ! 



A LYRIC OF THE STREET. 73 




A LYRIC OF THE STREET. 



HE gray-haired bard may sing his song, 
The sculptor cut his marble cold, 
Until the one lifts us among 

The angels of the other's mould ; 



But yonder school-girl, down the street, 
Has more of grace than Phidias wrought ; 

And in her laugh is music sweet, 
Such as no poet ever caught. 

The dusk that lingers in her hair, 
The olive on her cheek and brow, 

Would drive a painter to despair 
If he could see her yonder now. 

Alas ! that when that laughter dies, 
And when that lithesome form decays, 

The sculptor's shaft shall o'er her rise, 
And mourners sing the poet's lays ; 

7* 



74 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And loving friends shall treasure much 
The portrait that the painter made, 

Although the glow eludes his touch, 

And the dusk that gathered in her braid. 



IN APRIL WOOD. 75 




IN APRIL WOOD. 

JNCOVER thy head, and be still ! 

A thrill 
From the Infinite Heart 
Hath touched the heart of the hill. 
A wave from the Ocean of Love 
Hath rolled from above; 
I tremble and start 
With a sense of unutterable fear 
That a voice too fine for mine ear 
May be whispering now to the trees, — 
Hark ! Is it a bird or a breeze 
Or a breath from the Infinite Seas 
That I hear in the trees? 
How good and thrice good 
And how blessed to be 
The poorest and plainest lichen or tree 
To-day in the wood, 



y6 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And feel the touch of the spirit that maketh 

Alive, and taketh 

The gloom of the world away, 

And giveth the green and the gold for the gray ! 



NARROW LAND > TWIXT LIFE AND DEATH. J J 



THE NARROW LAND 'TWIXT 
LIFE AND DEATH. 



fi$ STOOD alone upon 

The narrow land that lies 

Twixt life and death. 
Both day and night were gone, 
And gone the arching skies 

And summer's breath. 

I saw that all is death 
Within the land of life, — 

'Tis death at last 
When skies and summer's breath 
And love and toil and strife 

And pain are past. 

I saw that all is light 
And life within the land 



78 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Of death, — for there 
There is no sign of night 
Or death, but all the land 

Is sweet and fair. 



A POEM UNWRITTEN. 



79 



A POEM UNWRITTEN. 

IVE me a breath from the apple-bloom, 

Give me a bit of the morning sky, 
Give me a note from the thrush's throat 
And give me a glance from my lady's eye 




To set within my little song, 

And nothing more I'll ask of fame; — 
Alas, for me, that I should be 

Unmeet to sign to it my name! 



80 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE COMRADE HILLS. 

HY hand, dear friend, 

Thy hand; and away to the hills,- 
To the brave and stalwart hills ! 

Mayhap they'll lend 
Some strength of heart and hand 
To us, — to us who stand 

Their last of kin, 
Born in a later day, 
Evolved from out their clay, 

Through death and sin. 

For that same power 
That throws across their brow 
A glint of sunshine now, 

Gives thee thy dower 
Of radiant blush and bloom. 
Like us, from ancient gloom 



THE COMRADE HILLS. 8 1 

These hills have come, 
And what shall be for you, 
Or them, or me, we too, 

Like them, are dumb. 

No need is there 
That any spring-time wood 
Should lend thy maidenhood 

Aught that is fair, 
Nor any summer-land 
Put flowers in thy hand ; 

No need is there 
That any perfect May 
Should give to thee this day 

Aught that is rare. 

But hast thou power, 
When all the world is gloomed, 
And morning hopes are doomed, 

To stand that hour, 

Like these old hills so brave 

That laugh at Beauty's grave 
8 



82 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And know no fear, 
Though all the flowers below 
Should He beneath the snow 

And death be near? 

That gray old stone, 
Which neither kiss of breeze 
Nor friendly nod of trees 

Can make to own 
A smile, they cherish more 
Than any birds that soar, 

Or buds that blow, 
Or plight of love, or song 
Of brook that trends along 

The vale below. 

The sleeted wind, 
Which asks not in its wrath 
A hand to clear its path, 

In them doth find 
A comrade spirit old; 
And when the clouds enfold 



THE COMRADE HILLS. 83 

Their heads, how proud, 
Like turbaned giants calm, 
They stand, while healing balm 

Drips from the cloud! 

Man's hope are they: 
The storehouse of his wealth ; 
Protectors of his health 

From plagues that prey 
On him in marish place; 
Defenders of his race 

Against the wrath 
Of flood and storm that sweep, 
With ruin in their keep, 

Across his path. 

The lowland ways 
Are dusk with Shadow's wings 
That touch the fairest things 

Of brightest days ; 
But on that happy height 
A benison of light 



84 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Makes gold of sand, 
And lingers like a touch — 
Indeed it must be such — 

From God's own hand. 

Thy hand, dear friend, 
Thy hand ; and away to the hills ! 
We'll leave our cares and ills 

Below, and bend 
Our steps to higher things. 
The lark that sweetest sings 

Is highest flown; 
The soul that heeds the call 
To sunlit heights hath all 

Things for its own. 



LOVE'S PATHWAY. 85 




LOVE'S PATHWAY. 

THOUSAND miles of winter earth 

Lies 'twixt us twain, 
And yet thy love makes all the way 
A summer lane 

Where roses rollic o'er the hedge, 

The wood-thrush sings, 
And June — our Lady Bountiful — 

Her blessing brings. 



8* 



86 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




NATURE'S TRIUMPH. 

I. 

CROSS the hill, on sunny bank, 
A wild rose grew; 
Alone it stood and nightly drank 
The gentle dew. 
Upon the rose-bank soon there waved 

The standing corn ; 
And all the fruitful land was saved 

From brier and thorn; 
But dead was then the wilding rose, 

And buried low, 
And shocks of corn above it rose, — 
Grave-shafts of woe. 

II. 

A home was built adown the lane 
Where waved the corn; 

A childish voice laughed o'er the main 
Both night and morn; 



NATURE'S TRIUMPH. 87 

But all the crowned and tasselled corn, — 

Ah, well-a-day ! — 
E'en as the sweetbrier and the thorn, 

Had died away. 

III. 

Across the hill to-day I found 

A little grave, 
And saw, upon the weedy mound, 

A wild rose wave; 
Alone it stands, as years ago 

On that bright morn, 
And o'er the graves its petals blow 

Of child and corn. 



88 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




QUATRAINS AND FANCIES. 

PAN. 

HE thunder's roar and the moan of the sea 
Are sweet to the ears of the great god 
Pan; 
But he heareth, too, the bird and the bee, 
And the feeble, wailing voice of man. 

OCTOBER. 

The mellow days are hushed and still ; 

Not sad, but calm and sober; 
The robin's song and cricket's trill 

Have but one word, — October. 

UNDER THE MAPLES. 

I stretch myself upon this rug 

Of many an Oriental hue ; 
Twas woven by the winds and frosts 

In patterns that above me grew. 



QUATRAINS AND FANCIES. 89 

THE LOVER AND THE BOOK. 

Thousands of men have fallen in love 

With books, and, as knights of old, obeyed 
them; 

And unto this day it has never been said 
That their mistress has ever betrayed them. 

THE JUDEAN AND THE PRINCE. 

One was born in a stranger's hut, 
But the world is full of his fame ; 

The other was born in a palace of gold, 
But no man knoweth his name. 

SYMPATHY. 

The shouts of Caesar's mailed hosts, 

Or the roar of the ocean's wrath, 
Came not so near the Master's ear 

As the cry of a child in His path. 

THE CITY AND THE FIELDS. 

The city's great heart has a thousand full views, 
And it throbs with a strength all unknown ; 



go ASHES AND INCENSE. 

But the fields with their feathered harpers and 
choirs 
Have a thousand free hearts of their own. 

THE CRITIC. 

The critic is the meanest man of his race ; 
He gloats o'er wrinkles in Earth's old face; 
But in a cycle he could not have made 
So much as even a sea-weed blade. 



THE LOST ECHO. 9 1 




THE LOST ECHO. 

E pitiful, O Mother Earth ! 

Why are thy hills so still and cold ? 

Why hold from me that greater worth 

Than honor's wreath or traffic's gold ? 



Somewhere among these stoic rocks, 
Or hidden in this cloistered dell, 

Shut in by Time's unyielding locks, 
Lost echoes of my boyhood dwell. 

And I have come from far to stand 
With naked brow, and wait, and wait 

To hear that voice ; O Silent Land ! 
And have I come too late, too late? 

I find that still the bob-whites call 
Across the field through all the day, 

Until the robes of darkness fall 
Upon the mountain, far away; 



92 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And still for me the breaking morn 

Brings fragrance fresh from clover-fields ; 

And still for me the tasselled corn 
Its sweetly-whispered music yields. 

But not for love, or gold, or tears, 
These warders of my boisterous glee 

That hold the best part of my years, 
Will give one echo back to me. 




A LITTLE CORNER OF LIFE. 93 



A LITTLE CORNER OF LIFE. 



HERE is no life so overgrown with weeds, 
No life so waste with desert sands, 
But that in some secluded nook thereof 
A struggling, fragrant flower stands. 



It may not lift its head to public view, 
The weeds may shut it from the sun, 

But it will leave its fragrance on the air 
Long after life itself be done. 

A humble flower, perchance, of modest hue, 
And all the world may pass it by 

To praise the gaudy blooms that court applause 
And flaunt their colors to the sky; 

Some sweet arbutus vine, content to creep 
Beneath the withered leaves and snows, 

While every maiden wears upon her breast 
The pampered, proud, and royal rose. 



94 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE NYMPH EGERIA. 

[" The Fountain of Egeria flows to-day ... as it flowed nigh 
three thousand years ago." — Dr. Hugh Macmillan.] 



HE Nymph is gone from the Coelian Hill, 
And all the Muses are fled, 
But the Fount of Egeria bubbles and 
flows 
Forever on to its bed. 



For thousands of years Pompilius lies 
With the dust of the crumbled hills, 

But the cooling waters of the living stream 
Sport on in ripples and rills. 

Romance is gone from the Aventine, 
And the deities back to the skies ; 

But the spring of truth is ever fresh : 
It lives when all else dies. 




AMID THE MOUNTAIN PINES. 95 



AMID THE MOUNTAIN PINES. 

HE snows fall deep, the snows fall fast, 
And the lights are out of the sky ; 
The moan, oh, the moan of the winter 
wind, 
And its wail as it skurries by! 

The laurel-brake and maiden-hair 
Seem dead as the hopes of May; 

I stand alone beneath the pines, 
And the mountains stretch away. 

The wolfs hoarse howl, the jackal's bay, 
Or the least of nature's signs, 

Would music, welcome music be 
Amid these mountain pines. 

From cold gray earth to cold gray sky 
They reach like plummet-lines, 

And I am but an unseen speck 
Amid these mountain pines. 



g6 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE PATIENT EARTH. 

OW patiently await the parched fields 
The coming of the trumpet - bearing 
cloud ! 
How uncomplainingly the summer yields 
Its children to be wrapt in winter's shroud! 

How sweetly do the gentle valleys bear 

The frowns that fall across them from the hills ! 

How bravely all the woodland stretches wear 
Their sombre robes ! — how Nature bears her 
ills! 



FROM THE GALLERY. 97 




FROM THE GALLERY. 

(A RHYME OF NEW ORLEANS.) 

HE laugh of la belle Creole, 

The perfume of olive and rose, 
The breath of the Mexican sea 
Come up to my gallery and me 
On every wind that blows. 

Romance and legend and story 

And tales of the dear old days 
Are sitting here at my side 
And gossiping o'er with pride 
The Spaniard's wayward ways. 

Bienville and Bourbon and Dauphine, 

Ursulines, Lopez, Dumaine, — 

Each street preserves in its name 

Some story of virtue or fame, 

And tells it over again. 
9* 



98 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And every breeze from the Ramparts 

At peaceful bayou St. John, 
And every breath from "The Oaks," 
With their swinging mossy cloaks, 
Is a whisper of duel or don. 

But my heart goes down and lives 

In the quaint old shops and stalls, 
With their musty books and brown, 
In the dingy old French town 
With crumbling stuccoed walls. 




STANZAS. 99 



STANZAS. 

(from "song of a century.") 

HAT have we left of those whose strong 
right hand 
Felled low the leaf-crowned monarchs 
of the land? 
We peer in vain, with hand above our brow, 
Adown the way with hundred mile-stones now, 
Nor catch a gleam of that far-flashing steel 
Whose edge the great tree-hearts were made to 

feel. 
But just as he who watches from afar 
The axeman dealing sturdy strokes that jar 
The very hills, can hear the final blow 
When he no longer sees the gleam and glow, 
So we, from this high-rising hill of time, 
Look o'er to where those men were in their 

prime, 
And hear the echo of their blows roll on, 
Though woodman, axe, and forest all are gone. 



IOO ASHES AND INCENSE. 

What guerdon had these men of all their toil? 
For all their wounds where was the wine and 

oil? 
The larger world to them was all unknown, 
But know that smaller world was all their own ! 
They drank a richer wine than Moorish king 
E'er quaffed to dark-eyed maid 'mid wassail ring ; 
They drank the breeze that filtered through and 

through 
The poplar boughs, from heaven's distant blue. 
True men, so brave of heart and strong of hand! 
Made of the sterner stuff and heaven's own 

brand ! 
I cannot find their graves, unmarked so long, — 

No flower or stone; 
I only sing a halting, weak-voiced song, 
Backward blown. 

. 5}» 5f» 5j» *(» »P *(» 

With all thy wealth of years and laughing skies 
A city still thou art of lesser size, 
But large enough for hearts as bold and brave 
As ever thrust a sword or filled a grave ! 



STANZAS. IOI 

Hemmed in by hills and by yon wayward 

stream, 
A city only in thy larger dream, 
But wide enough for lives as pure and strong 
As ever worshipped Right or battled Wrong! 
Without the city's sheen and blinding glare, 
Thou still art wondrous fair and debonair, 
And bright enough for eyes as soft and deep 
As ever vanquished man or robbed his sleep! 
And vast enough art thou for sorrow's blight 
To test its length and breadth and depth and 

height ! 
And large enough for many myrtled graves, 
O'er which the surging years have lapped their 

waves. 
Thou art not even known to those whose eyes 
See naught unless its towers pierce the skies; 
But thou art famed enough for Love and 

Fear 
And Life and Death to find a pathway here; 
And Sorrow comes this way and drops a tear. 



102 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

And who shall speak for those who silent lie 
Beneath the blush of this October sky ? 
They reck not how we sing to-day nor why. 
In yonder sacred-shrined and shafted grove 
Asleep are they whose hearth-stone name was 
Love, — 

I speak for them! 
Upon these folded hills with gentle sweep 
Is holy dust, for which we weep and weep; 
Know thou, " He giveth His beloved sleep," — 

I speak for them ! 
In yonder king of lands, " the uncrowned west," 
Are some who loved this old town first and 

best; 
So mute and cold are they in deepest rest, — 

I speak for them! 
With sword and cap and gloves upon their biers 
Were laid to rest brave men in those dread 

years ; 
But hush ! the glory theirs and ours the tears, — 

I speak for them, 

I speak for them! 



STANZAS. 103 

But why should aught be said for the soldier 

dead? 
And why disturb the peace of their narrow bed ? 
One shot of theirs outworthed all that IVe said ; 
Their songs were writ with sword and seething 
lead, — 

I cannot speak for them! 
What word can reach the sleepers in the west? 
Their spirits now, I trow, at Love's behest, 
Are gathered here ; if not, then let them rest, — 

I cannot speak for them ! 
And one short life of all that lie to-day 
So still, shut in by cold, unfeeling clay, 
Was nobler far than this my simple lay, — 

I cannot speak for them, 

I cannot speak for them ! 

sk * * >fc * * 

And thou, old Alma Mater, dear to me, 
One boon, one single boon, I ask of thee : 
The larger years are wheeling into place, 
When all the nations stand as face to face, 
And great is he who wins a single race. 



104 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Raise up some seer, — some prophet-poet soul, 
Before another hundred years shall roll 

In mist away, — 
Some master-mind full ripe to honor thee 
In the Century Song of the city that's to be 

In the coming day! 



THE MAID OF THE MEADOWS. 105 




THE MAID OF THE MEADOWS, 



LITTLE girl in the meadow played 
Till the hours ran away 
And hid themselves where the fairies stayed 
'Neath evening's cloak of gray; 



And a little star fell down at her feet, 
Fell down through the soft cool air; 

She picked it up and kissed it sweet, 
And pinned it in her hair. 

And every night the big stars seemed 

To look from the sky and smile 
On their little sister star that gleamed 

In the maiden's hair the while. 

Her wond'ring face caught their smiles by night, 

And the glory of the sun by day, 

And grew in beauty as grows the light 

At dawn in the midst of May. 

10 



106 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Thus starlight and sunlight and soullight met 

In the blended beauty divine 
Of her who trips the meadow yet, — 

That beauty is thine, is thine! 



A WINTER MOOD. IO7 




A WINTER MOOD. 

HE heart of the earth is the heart of a 
friend, 

And warm is its beat I know; 
But cold is the greeting it can send 
Through drifting banks of snow. 

The song of the lark is the song of a friend, 
As he lilts through the upper air; 

But months ago he went to spend 

His song where the skies were fair. 

The breath of the rose is the breath of a friend, 

In the sun of a June-time day; 
But the rose-time days are at an end 

And the June-time far away. 

The voice of the stream is the voice of a friend, 

Till hushed 'neath icy pall: 
No more it laughs adown the bend, — 

For death is over all. 



108 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE GOD LOVE. 

HOU art a dangerous god, methinks; 
For thou hast made more ills than all 
The wars and plagues since death began 
To hold the struggling world in thrall. 

And yet thou curest all the ills 
Of pestilence and war beside 

Thine own and death's ; without thy balm 
The prostrate world itself had died. 



DREAMING OF THE MAY. 109 




DREAMING OF THE MAY. 

ITH frowning brows the bald, oaks keep 
Their watch and ward where flowers 
sleep 
In chilly graves 'neath pall of mould. 
Their arms reach out unto the May, 
As lovers long and Christians pray 

For clasp of hands with friends of old. 

The shrubs that in the leafless wold 

Have quaked like shorn lambs in the cold 

Are taking hope and heart to-day, 

For aye they're dreaming of the May. 

And all the wilding forest flowers 

That stricken lie like hopes of ours, 

And at whose graves the April showers 

Are calling, Rise! 

Will soon come forth on some bright morn 

A waking world to greet and 'dorn 

'Neath balmy skies. 
10* 



IIO ASHES AND INCENSE. 

The frosts are creeping from the rocks, 
The poplar's pulse, with sluggish knocks, 

Is beating time to the falling rain; 
And all the heavy doubt and dole 
That lay upon the forest's soul 

Is being lifted, — Winter's slain! 



AN ARTIST 70 HIS MODEL. 1 1 1 




AN ARTIST TO HIS MODEL. 

HERE is no line of beauty thou hast not, 
Nor curve of grace to artists known ; 
Not any masterpiece that's shown 
At Munich or beside the Seine has got 
A pose more Venus-like than thine; 
And yet the centuries shall shine 
On them, — to-morrow thou shalt be forgot ! 

For beauty not to be compared with thine, 

The princes of the earth have shed 

Their blood until it ran as red 
Across the plain as Bordelaisian wine ; 

And haughty cities have been burned; 

The tide of nations has been turned 
To other ways, — for beauty less than thine. 



112 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

If I could give to marble half thy charm 
Of symmetry and gracefulness, 
To high renown I would possess 

A title that no jealous years could harm ; 
But none would even ask the name 
Of her to whom I'd owe my fame; 

But still for aye this stone would speak thy 
charm ! 



THE WINDS. 



"* 



THE WINDS. 

FLOWER! a flower !" 
The South Wind cried, 
And the violet blushed and bloomed ; 
"A weed! a weed!" 
The North Wind sighed, 
And the violet's life was doomed. 




Better things than summer flowers 

Are cheered or killed by words of ours, 



114 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE LOST INHERITANCE— THE 
CRY OF THE PESSIMIST. 

HE heir is dead ! Scarce had the drift- 
ing gold 
Of seven summer suns lodged in his 
hair, 
And seven summer skies had lent their blue 
To paint his eyes the hue of heaven's dome. 
His voice had caught the songs the troubadours 
Sing in their woodland matinees. He knew 
The ballads of the winding brook by heart. 
His feet had run in race with halting Time, 
For Time to him went with but jogging pace, — 
He reached the Christmas-tide long weeks before 
Old Time came up to start the race anew. 
But voice and feet are still, the drifting gold 
Has ceased to lodge within his flowing hair, 



THE LOST INHERITANCE. 115 

And halting Time outruns him now. Make 

moan; 
Go, wind the serge about, — the heir is dead ! 

He had not even heard of that vast realm 
To which, as son of man, he was the heir, 
Though sole, yet joint with all the world beside; 
And now he's lost it all. But hear the will : 

" Bequeath and give I unto him for aye 
A largess rich with sighs and burning tears, 
A throbbing brow, an aching heavy heart, 
A mourning robe of threescore-ply and ten, 
And frosted locks that do not wait for years. 
The stretching realm, though his, he shall not rule, 
For all the Fates, with direfid brow and grim, 
Sit throned and crowned, and all is at their will. 
To him shall fall the badge as Knight of Grief, 
And on his breast King Sorrow's seal. Before 
His hearth-stone there shall tramp a nightly watch 
Of armored guards to cry at every hour : 



Il6 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

i All's well; we've bound him down with stubborn 

chains! 
All these are his to hold in simple fee, 
And then at last the loosed silver cord 
And broken golden bowl!' 

Fond mother, weep ! 
Thy fair-haired boy shall never know the bliss 
Attendant on a broken heart or love 
Betrayed, nor the ecstatic joy that comes 
When hopes are torn to shreds and ground to 

dust ! 
Aye, weep for him ! The world will never give 
Him stones when he had prayed for fish or 

bread. 
He shall not even feel the tender pain 
Thou knowest now beside his coffined form. 
Go, wind the serge about, — the heir is dead ! 



SIDNEY LANIER. \\J 




SIDNEY LANIER. 

SPIRIT to a kingly holding born ! 
As beautiful as any southern morn 
That wakes to woo the willing hills, 
Thy life was hedged about by ills 

As pitiless as any northern night; 

Yet thou didst make it as thy " Sunrise" bright. 

The seas were not too deep for thee ; thine eye 
Was comrade with the farthest star on high. 
The marsh burst into bloom for thee, — 
And still abloom shall ever be! 
Its sluggish tide shall henceforth bear alway 
A charm it did not hold until thy day. 

And Life walks out upon the slipping sands 
With more of flowers in her trembling hands 

Since thou didst suffer and didst sing! 

And so to thy dear grave I bring 

One little rose, in poor exchange for all 

The flowers that from thy rich hand did fall. 

ii 



n8 



ASHES AND INCENSE. 



A LIFE LESSON. 




PEARL ! a pearl !" exclaimed a lad, 

As he tracked by the raving sea. 
" Look what a wealth the wrinkled waves 

Have washed ashore for me!" 
And out upon the glassy deep 

He tossed and skipped the shells 
That round him lay, and laughed to hear 

The billows moan their sad farewells ; 
But never dreamed that he had thrown 

Into the mouth of a hungry sea 
A pearl that far outworthed the stone 

That he had gathered in his glee. 



AMONG THE GOLD HILLS. II9 




AMONG THE GOLD HILLS. 

HE sun keeps tryst with the Western Sea; 

For many and many a year of old, 
When the hills were young and their 
hearts were free, 
He sought this shore and turned to gold, 
E'en to his own supernal gold, 
The hearts of these voluptuous hills, 
And turned their veins to aureate rills. 

And though the brawny, whiskered knight 

Of Forty-nine and Fifty-three 

Has wooed and won, on bended knee, 

The hearts of all these maiden hills, 

And crushed them as we crush in mills, 

The sun has never broken plight, 

Nor failed his parting kiss at night. 



120 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

The million-suitored hills have lost 
Their lovers now, as maidens do 
Whose hearts 1 young gold is freely tossed 

To all the world, — they harvest rue. 
But he whose breath first kissed their brow 
Is constant still, and even now 
I see him wheel his chariot down 
The western slope of Sierra's crown. 



A DIRGE. 121 




A DIRGE. 

PILLOWED head on the cold, cold 
clay, 

And a love and a life that died away! 
Pray God the head that lies so low 
Under the sleet and the shrouding snow 
Has less of death and deathless care 
Than the living heart that's buried there! 

For weary years the sun has lain 
Below the dreary western plain, 
And I have watched with lifted eyes 
To see it gild the eastern skies ; 
But now I know that nevermore 
Will light break on that distant shore. 

Ah! nevermore! unless, perchance, 
With richer, holier radiance, 



122 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

It crown, through cycles all untold, 
The domes and spires of the City of Gold. 
Oh, shall these years of rayless night 
Unfit mine eyes for scenes so bright? 



THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 1 23 




THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 

HEY told me a tale in the orange lands, 
As we loafed by the still bayou, 

Where Spanish mosses waved their hands 
To sails in the distant blue, — 



They told me a tale as weird as the main 
And the marsh that round us lay, 

While the waters crept like things in pain 
Through the weeds and grasses gray. 

They told me how by the river side 

A Creole cottage stood, 
Wherein there lived Nannette, in the pride 

Of her blooming maidenhood; 

But the rose within and the roses without 
Drew Death to the portal one day, 

And they coffined her form when he went out 
A-taking her soul away. 



124 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

The river climbed the banks that night 
And stole what Death had left: 

It stole her body, wrapt in white, 
And shouted o'er its theft. 



It carried its prize to the Mexican sea 
Where the ships were coming ashore, 

And left it drifting there, ah, me! 
With sea-weed floating o'er: 



With sea-weed grim for immortelles, 
And the moan of the sea for a dirge, 

Where the Gulf winds mingled sad farewells 
With the sighs and the sough of the surge ; 



Till the floater was found by a passing sloop, 
And the coffin was hauled on the deck, 

And the sailors gathered around in a group 
To gaze on the ghastly wreck. 



THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 1 25 

The lid was lifted,— " God ! Nannette !" 
And the skipper fell on his face, — 

"But there shall be a bridal yet, 
And this shall be the place !" 

They calmed his raving soul; they gave 

His bride again unto the sea 
With burial words and prayers to save 

Her soul from misery; 

But the skipper followed his Creole bride 

Before the sloop touched shore, 
And peaceful sleep they side by side 

" Till the sea shall be no more." 



126 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




COMPENSATION. 

I. 

HE bird that throws an arch of song 

Across the flushing east 
Feels less the kinship of the earth 

Than any burrowing beast. 

II. 

From crag to sun the eagle soars, 
But counts no man its friend; 

The meanest churl to wounded dove 
A helping hand will lend. 

III. 
When all the choirs and orchestras 

Of art sublime are stilled, 
'Tis then with Nature's overtures 

The waiting heart is filled. 



COMPENSATION. \2J 

IV. 

The soul that labors all content 
Within the pit's dim light 

Escapes the wrecking blasts that blow- 
Across the blazing height. 



128 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




WHERE SUMMER BIDES. 

HE broken-hearted fields are dumb with 
grief, 

And wear their mourning garb of gray ; 
Their very tears are frozen as they fall, 

And through their tresses wild winds stray. 

The children that they held upon their breast 
In love through all the summer long 

Now walk the dim and ghostly lanes of death, 
And from the copse there comes no song. 

The silent city streets are walled with tombs, 
Like ways through catacombs of old, 

And loved ones weep for hopes that, hand in 
hand, 
Walk with the flowers of the wold. 



WHERE SUMMER BIDES. 1 29 

But otherwhere, they say, by southern seas, 
Sweet olives bloom, and all the air 

Is filled with perfume and with song of birds ; 
And languid love its rest finds there. 

There lacing vines on gallery and court 
The forms of dark-eyed maids half hide ; 

There Nature doth her constant love declare 
And prove, — for there doth summer bide. 



12 



130 ASHES AND INCENSE, 




VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DIN- 
NER. 

HEALTH I ask you drink with me 

to-day 

To one not often met along the way 
The surging masses tread, — 
A way that rings with tramp of busy feet 
Of men who with their fellow-men compete 
For gold, or place, or bread. 

I ask that here a bumper large we take 

To him who knowledge loves for its own sake, 

E'en as his life as well ; 
Who counts not learning as his stock in trade, 
On which so much in dollars may be made, 

To barter or to sell. 



VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DINNER. 131 

A love like this the Hebrew prophets felt 
When, moved with awe devout, they knelt 

Beneath the eastern stars; 
A love like this the men of Athens knew 
When Paul stood forth, a man of might, and true, 

Upon the Hill of Mars. 



A love like this the sages gave of old 
To all the secrets earth or heaven told, 

And called them words from God ; 
A love like this the Seer of Concord found 
For Truth, for Wisdom, and for all around,- 

A planet or a clod. 



A love like this some here to-day have known, 
And with the years that sacred love has grown, 

Though Wisdom farther seems 
Than when in years agone in this same hall 
They thought that she had kindly told them all 

Her secrets and her dreams. 



132 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

A love like this makes gallant hearts and brave, — 
For did not Crito's friend go to the grave 

For Truth's and Wisdom's sake ? 
A love like this is pure as woman's love, 
And fills the suitor's heart with joy above 

The power of earth to take. 



He knows his mistress never hath betrayed 
The loyal heart upon her altar laid, 

Whoe'er the suitor be; 
The gods of fame and fortune fickle prove, 
But nothing can her constancy remove 

Through all eternity. 



He loves her not with selfish love and base, 
But unto him her form divine, and face 

Resplendent as a bride's, 
Are fairer than the dazzling brow of fame ; 
And for her smiles he'd gladly yield his claim 

On all the world besides. 



VERSES AT AN ALUMNI DINNER. I 33 

The fevered world runs on with bated breath 
To conquest, or to glory, or to death, 

Forgetting him whose praise 
I sing, — the searcher after truer things ; 
And though my song goes but on crippled 



wings, 



This note for him I raise. 



12* 



1 34 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




TO A RARE OLD BOOK. 

HY back is bent with age, 
Thy wrinkled front is knit 
As brow of thought-worn sage, 
And browned and grayed by Time's 
Own brush is every page; 
But Death thou shalt not know, 
Old book, for years or slow 
Or fast make thee more fair 
Because thou art so rare ! 




A NOCTURNE. 1 35 



A NOCTURNE. 

HE winter moon hangs low in the west, — 

O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 
The ghostly snow, at the wind's behest, 
Is filling the bleak night air; 
And, like a grave, the world's at rest, — 
O Maid of the Dusky Hair! 

The light of life hangs low in the west, — 

O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 
Its ghostly snows, at Time's behest, 

Are drifting through the air; 
And, like a grave, the dead years rest, — 

O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 

I've sung for you at the window-sill, — 

Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 

A constant song, and sometimes still 

1 surely see you there ; 

Though o'er your grave it blows at will, — 
O Maid of the Dusky Hair ! 



136 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE OLD THRESHING-FLOOR. 

HE rugged hills were bearded o'er 
With shaggy, bristling grain 

That yellow gleamed in the noontide sun 
And bowed to wind and rain, 

Till the reapers came with harvest songs, 
And the fields were shorn and robbed; 

For them the dews at night-time fell 
And the winds of autumn sobbed. 

Upon a wide, projecting rock, 

As old as the ages gray, 
That frowning stands on the grim hill-side 

A-stretching far away, — 

Upon this giant's level breast, 
As smooth as an oaken floor, 

The cattle trod the bruised grain 
Till it could yield no more ; 



THE OLD THRESHING-FLOOR. 1 37 

But the children laughed by the cottage hearth 

On the hill-side slope below, 
They laughed and ate the bruised grain, 

In brain and brawn to grow. 

The stony world is a threshing-floor, 

And human hearts the grain 
That's trod beneath the heel of Time, 

And seems forever slain ; 

But only chaff is blown away, 

The wheat appears again 
For other lives to strengthen by 

And grow in heart and brain. 



I38 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




WILD-FLOWERS IN THE CITY. 

H, beautiful, delicate wild-flowers ! 
Oh, exiled and innocent wild-flowers! 
You have come to me here, 
But are lonely, I fear, 
And long for the hills 
And the rills far away, 
For your home by the rills 
On the hills far away, 
Oh, beautiful, delicate wild-flowers ! 

Yau were plucked by a hand as fair as yourselves, 
And pure as the stream or the hearts of the elves 

That played at your feet; 

And surely 'twas meet 

That it should be so, 

For do you not know 



WILD-FLOWERS IN THE CITY. 1 39 

That you would have died — 
Lain down side by side, 
Lain down there and died — 
In a few days at most? 
Oh, the winds and the frost ! 

Tis well that you now are slain to the death; 
You couldn't endure the city's foul breath ; 

And then you'd be lonely, 

So friendless and lonely, 

In the city out here, 

With its blistering breath 

And its carnival of death 

Through all the long year. 

And so, you are dead ; 

What prayer shall be said ? 

Shall I close these poor eyes 

That laughed to the skies ? 

Ah, no; it is done; 

They have shut out the sun, 

And the limp hands are crossed 

That so gracefully tossed 



140 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

In sport with the winds 

A short week ago ; 

Hush ! speak of it low. 

Ah, welaway ! 

For dark is the day, 
Oh, perished, unfortunate wild-flowers ! 
My cherished, immaculate wild-flowers ! 



THE DEBUTANTE. 141 






THE DEBUTANTE. 

EN ADAM stood by the Eden gate, 

And a woful look he wore 
As the Angel nailed the sign that said, 

"To be opened nevermore." 

" Our little garden party failed/' 
Ben Adam said, with a sigh, 

" But with all the flowers and fruits we had 
I can't imagine why." 

"I'll tell you why," the Angel said, 
As he lost himself in a cloud 

And left Ben Adam alone by the gate : 
" You hadn't a ' bud' in the crowd." 



13 



142 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




MESSAGES IN CIPHER. 

WONDROUS, matchless melody 
That fills the earth and air and sea! 
Thou art the song the masters heard 

And saved for us some meagre word ; 

And if that word so thrilleth me, 

What then must thy full chorus be ! 

And if a note from nature caught 

Is never lost and dieth not, 

How marvelous the sweep must be 

Of thy eternal symphony ! 

No sage or seer explains to me 
The tidings of the sonant sea, 
Nor tells me what the ocean saith, 
When, like the wrath of Allah's breath, 
It breaks upon the beetled shores 
And batters down a nation's doors. 



MESSAGES IN CIPHER. 1 43 

And who unfolds the story told 
By the blue of the sky, or the green of the wold ? 
Or the plaint of the lonesome pine on the hill ? 
Or the answer that comes from the elm by the 

mill? 
Or the secret that lives in the sounding shell 
Where the island stays the breakers' swell ? 



They have a cipher sweeter far 
Than human speech and music are ; 
What is that runic sign, O seer? 
Their voices reach my 'wildered ear, 
And I have heard the message pass 
From haughty oak to trembling grass ; 
Have seen the rose-bud blush with pride, 
And Andes shake his hoary side. 

What saith the wind, as all night long 
It cries as one that suffers wrong? 
What saith it when from out the south 
It comes with fragrance in its mouth ? 



144 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

What message bears it from the throne 
Of him whose realties the ice-bound zone ? 
Who'll tell me what the bluebirds sing 
Through all the days of laughing spring, 
Or read to me the ancient lay 
The ring-dove saith alway, alway? 

Their speech was old when Aryan tongue 
Its first imperfect accents sung, 
And still will live when human speech 
Is but an echo on Time's beach. 



THE LADY AND THE BOOK. 145 




THE LADY AND THE BOOK, 



H, pale, sweet maiden rare ! 
With mellow hair, 

Thine eyes aweary 
Have grown, and strive in vain 
To ope again, — 

The book's so dreary. 

Tell me thy dream, wilt not? 
Ere it's forgot, 

And down I'll write it ; 
And none will weary grow 
The end to know, 
If thou indite it. 



13 



I46 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 

OW brighter shines that faithful star, 
Which I have followed toward the west, 
And follow still with greatest zest, 
For on the morrow I shall rest 
Where all my sacred treasures are. 

Above thy watchful castle tower 

It stays its guiding course, and stands 
And points its rays like dial hands 
To that which from far-distant lands 

I've come to seek, — my lady's bower. 

I bring thee from the foughten plain 
A 'scutcheon free from blot or blight, 
A sword oft tried in mortal fight, 
A heart that quails not in the right, 

And lay them at thy feet again. 



THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 1 47 

Thy keepsake was a talisman, 

Thy prayers have been my shield alway ; 

And when upon the sands I lay 

I heard thy voice above me say, 
" I'm with thee since thy course began." 

And once upon the midnight sky 
I saw thy name by lightnings made 
As plain as here upon this blade 
Of tempered steel, with pearls inlaid, — 

A name and sign to conquer by. 

My journeyings at last are done; 
IVe kept the sacred vow I swore 
To plant the cross and banner o'er 
The Mosque of Omar firm before 

I came to claim thy favor won. 

And with the faintest glimpse of day 
I'll wake the birds at thy window-sill ; 
And when thou smil'st my heart shall fill 
With love's reward, to live until 

My sword itself shall rust away. 



I48 ASHES AND INCENSE. 




THE SCHOLAR'S BRIDE. 



HE pillars of Karnak have seen but a day 
Of the years of the life of his bride ; 
She walked her lonesome, royal way 
While worlds were born and died. 



She saw the Nile creep from the sands 

And steal toward the sea; 
And yet a maiden young she stands, 

And smiles for you and me. 

Her name ? They called her Truth of old ; 

Sometimes by Beauty's name, 
When poets put her in their rhymes; 

But they are both the same. 

And Knowledge oft she's called, and some 
There be who call her Fame; 



THE SCHOLAR'S BRIDE. 1 49 

But, modest maiden that she is, 
She answers not that name. 

And scholars, poets, artists, — these 

Have counted it their pride 
To give to her their choicest years 

That they might call her Bride. 

How fair she is, how wondrous fair, 

No man hath ever known ; 
Nor will she ever be to him 

In all her beauty shown ; 

He sees her sandaled feet but touch 

The distant yellow grain; 
He hears her voice among the reeds 

And in the summer rain. 

Her face illumes the western sky, 
And lights the book's gray page ; 

Her touch of hand gives hope to youth 
And solace to his age. 



I50 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

He sees her figure wrapt in clouds 

Far on the distant height, 
And finds her footprints in the sand 

Long ages hid from sight. 

She comes to him in dreams, and soothes 

His tired, fevered brain, 
And leads him, too, alas ! alas ! 

Where death and darkness reign. 

But darkest death and brightest life 

To him are both the same 
When she doth hold aloft her torch, 

And smile, and speak his name. 



THE POET'S MAGIC POWER. 151 




THE POET'S MAGIC POWER. 

(TO ROBERT BURNS WILSON.) 

CROSS a field of gorse and sedge and 
broom 

And grasses dead you walked one 
day, 
When of the rain were woven webs of gloom, 
And hill and sky were cold and gray. 

But home you came with amaranth and rose 

And eglantine and lilies rare, — 
The choicest blooms the nooked woodway 
knows ; 

And sunshine played upon your hair. 

Across a field of roses, rare and red, 

I walked when all the world was bright ; 

But gathered only gorse and grasses dead, 
And bound them round with threads of night. 



152 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Far forth through silent lengths of winter lanes, 

That held no echo of a song, 
Or mem'ry of the bluebird's melting strains, 

You walked with Music's maid along. 

But mocking-bird and lark and nightingales 
Came forth with summer songs for you, 

Till all the air was stirred with songsters' sails, 
And every sail winged toward the blue. 

In nooks where mating birds their concerts give 
I lingered long to catch some note 

To set within a rhyme that it might live, — 
But dead to-day are the lines I wrote. 



THE POLAR ZONE. I 53 




THE POLAR ZONE. 

SACRED, sheeted wild 
Of the frozen North ! A child, 
I thought of thee with awe, 

As round the hearth at night, 
With bitter gust and flaw, 
I heard the howling winds 
Strive with the wooden blinds, 
And shook with very fright. 

Thy messengers were they, 

From the icy courts away 

In the realm of the polar zone ; 

There Nature's God is king, 
Nor round his ice-built throne 
Polluting tread of Man, 
Since Time and Death began, 

Has come, nor unclean thing. 



154 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

Man leaps the desert's graves 
And sails the rough sea-waves ; 
He chains the gods of air 

And earth; but thou art free, 
Thou cold, cold North, so fair! 
Thou stretch of spotless white !- 
As far as human sight, — 

I kneel and worship thee. 

Would that upon thy breast 
They'd lay me down to rest 
When all is lost and won ! 

But no; I would not will 
To be the very one 
To blemish and to wrong 
What I have loved so long, 

And love so constant still. 



A LANDSCAPE IMPRESS/ON. 1 55 




A LANDSCAPE IMPRESSION. 

SOBER day, becoming almost sad 

As evening trails her sable skirts along 
The sloping fields ; across the lane one 
glad, 
Clear note seems out of place, — a vagrant's song. 

The faintest odor on the air — 'tis gone ! — 
Of long-forgotten Junes ; a hint — no more — 

That once there must have been, somewhere, a 
dawn ; 
A fledgling breeze, too weak to rave or roar. 

A brooding sense of deep desire, so calm 
It balances 'twixt joy and plaintive grief, 

That fears alike the morning's waking psalm 
And the parting whisper of a dying leaf. 



156 ASHES AND INCENSE. 

A place await to kiss God's kindly hand, 
Or feel His blasting curse; afraid of each, — 

A silent and a humble-hearted land 

That needs an artist's brush to give it speech. 



TO MY FA THER. 1 5 7 




TO MY FATHER. 

HE lad that sported years ago 
In Shenandoah fields 
Hath made his life as bountiful 
And blessed as their yields; 

As tender as the skies that stretch 
Above old Woodstock town, 

And pure as are the winds that blow 
From bleak Mount Jackson down. 



158 ASHES AND INCENSE. 



FINIS. 

ASK not,— 

When shall the day be done, and rest 
come on ? 
I pray not 

That soon from me the " curse of toil" be gone ; 
I seek not 

A sluggard's couch with drowsy curtain drawn. 

But give me 

Time to fight the battle out as best I may ; 
And give me 

Strength and place to labor still at evening's 
gray; 
Then let me 

Sleep as one who toiled afield through all the 
day. 




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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pro< 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

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A WORLD LEADER IN COLLEGTiONS PRESERVl 

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